Secret Agents of Chaos

We were born unto a golden age
When favor endowed us, fine,
Though circumstances proffered
Their problems as they brew
We were capable, and we grew.
I was voracious and leaning unstable
But the mark of it was feathered
Light, invisible at most edges, slight,
You were scrappy, yet saccharine,
Neat, a contumacious pleasure
Forever brooding, outside bounds.
Along divided pathways, we wended,
You much needing, I stymied, not
Succeeding as would, I could;
Devastated for the missing
Unknown, the X and Y of who
We designated, risk-related were.
Somehow the lawful order
Separated, gradually disintegrated,
Brokedown in some unmapped region,
The secret of hearts, with chosen
Souls, a love time destined to
Seek and find what others claimed
Us as belonged, with finite reason.
We bloomed like dandelions
Secret Agents of Chaos thrust savage
Into the world of mendacity
Set together free though love was
Ours to linger only temporarily.

Epitome

How did it happen,
How did everything transform,
A strain of music,
A melody overheard
In the sparkle of your eyes?
You were a picture
Extravagantly admired
Shimmering starlight,
Two pair of eyes, then, we met,
Suddenly blazing desire.
An ozone shedding storm
A fierce current between hearts
Thrived until we merged,
A heavenly symphony –
Love, we were both and befell.
Our together is
A portion, given delirious, free,
Pleasant abundance
Outside all expectation
Gorgeous truth, mystery.

Symbios

People have entered
Relationships simply to
Learn who someone is,
Because understanding this
Tells us depths about ourselves.
We, everyone, has
A fascination, hidden
Beyond our insight
We harken to the others
To illustrate life in us.
We feed our need on
All the ones invited to
Circle, they on us,
We require much love given
Also, share utmost,
A mirror clouded metal
Reflecting and enlightening.
Love we are and become
Our closest ones we allow to be
Who we are, who they see,
Knowing us all empathy.

Sometime After 12 AM

Sitting, covered by blankets,
Quilts, holding the chill at bay,
A pillow propping me almost,
Upright, with a journal carefully
Placed to catch the wily words
My handmade pen traces from
The interiors of mind’s gray matter
Planted like nourishing fruits,
Vegetables, ripening over time.
Books, pens, tablets, all close to
Hand for change in operation
Should some desperate need
Apply beyond the sweet tones
Broadcast through the speaker
Streaming what bathes me
In warmth, pleasure, peace,
Easing the shake that sometimes
Turns capable hands used to
Calming others into erratically
Fluttering light imprisoned moth
Wings beating away life’s color.

Wield Love

The world is sore, hurt,
Hearts are aching, some breaking,
There is a need, more;
A light to shine against darkness,
A love to restore hope, dreams,
A requirement here, now, to meet,
To wrap snug comforting arms
Around those who weep for peace.
We each are an answer for doubt,
Fear, pain, hurt damaging, deranging
Others, liken to who we are,
We give the hands, hearts, lives,
Provide at this moment
And wield loving care, ample goodness
For the benefit of every soul
Residing in this troubled world.
We are chosen, given faith,
To stand for love, sharing blessing,
Finding delight in the company
Of those presently escaping night.

That is the last of what I have so far written. Maybe I will relax, but I do not count on it. When the words wish, they come. I cannot turn them away as if no one were home. Did I, I might later find they would stop. Yes, I have some superstitions about this gift, talent, that makes no sense being given to me. I let it have a place and time when it chooses. I think my life would be a desert without it.